


Dichotomy

by okaywhateverokayyes



Category: Animal Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Deran's POV, Desperation, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Turmoil, Hurt, Imploding, Inevitable, M/M, Pain, Repression, Suffering, Young Boys acting like shits, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-10-10 07:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10433037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaywhateverokayyes/pseuds/okaywhateverokayyes
Summary: They’ve been-He struggles to find the word.Friends?Best friends?He takes a deep breath when the word he refuses to think about creeps into his mind.Deran's POV, because he's an anomaly.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s 2 in the morning.

He stirrs from his sleep when he gets the call.

There’s ragged breathing, some low growls and he almost goes to switch his phone off when Craig’s voice stops him.

“Dude.” Craig sounds hurried. Deran lifted his head up, had his elbow pressed into the pillow for leveling as he pressed the phone against his ear.

There’s silence on the other end. But not really. He heard a lot of shuffling, sounded like a cart was reeling-and maybe it was. But he pushed it aside when the ragged breathing picks up. Soon, there’s a low grunt and Deran had to blink his eyes when Baz’s voice replaced Craig’s.

“Deran. Get to the hospital.”

Deran rubbed at his eyes.

“What.” He muttered, “What. Why?”

Baz is mumbling as Deran takes the moment to flip over. He swipes his hand against his forehead when he’s met with static silence.

 _For fuck’ sake_.

“Alright, I’m gonna hang u-“

“It’s Adrian. Get to the hospital.”

Suddenly, he’s awake.

Alert.

Every nerve in his body felt like they were on flames.

“What about him?” Deran has to grip onto the sheets as he lowly asks, when all he wants to do is scream into the phone. There’s this sense of urgency he feels that causes him to lift the covers up and over his body.

“Just bruised up. It looks bad but I just think he broke his nose. Makes sense why there’s all that blood,” Baz’s voice sounds distant, “They’re checking him out now. Just get to the hospital alright? Take my jeep. I put the keys on the rack over the unit. Also, don’t wake Smurf up.”

Deran has to clench his hand into a fist as he grits his teeth together.

“What happened?” He’s jabbing his nails into his palm as he asks.

Because blood?

He glances at the clock above his drawer-it says 2:11.

It’s 2:11 in the morning. And somehow Adrian finds a way to fuck with him.

Deran removes his cell away from his face as he lets out a growl.

“I don’t know. Once he wakes up-“ Deran digs his fingers deeper into his flesh because the thought of Adrian not even being conscious. He perches over the bed as Baz’s voice starts to be overwhelmed by his harsh breaths. He fizzles around until he brings his legs up and closer to his chest, rests his elbow against the knees and shoves his head in between.

He starts to count.

11.

8.

234.

It’s all random.

Counting from one to ten seemed too obvious.

234.

8.

11.

He says it over and over again, whispers it under his breath until his breathing levels out.

“Deran.” Baz is now barking as Deran places the phone against his ear, “Just get here alright?”

Soon his feet hit the ground running.

He doesn’t remember really putting on his sweatshirt, shoving his feet into his sneakers, walking into the shed, rummaging his over the rack-slides his hand to one side before he grips onto the keys. He doesn’t remember starting the jeep, or opening the gates. He doesn’t remember much as he pulls the jeep out onto the street and presses on the accelerator and having to swerve when he doesn’t see that he had just swerved past a stop light.

He glances at his phone, the screen lighting up. So he goes to grab it, levels the phone in front of his eyes and reads the address. It clicks that they’re not at a hospital. But a community clinic.

He doesn’t remember the anger that rummages through him as he continues to press down on the accelerator.

He doesn’t remember much as he pulls into the parking lot. Turns the engine off. Grabs his phone and shoves it into his shorts. His vision blurs. All the different color lights start to mesh into one. He sees ‘community clinic’ as bright as daylights. But that’s as much as clarity as he could see.

He grips onto the handle and pushes forward. The soles of his shoes are making rubbery sounds as he slams them against the ground. He drags his feet when all he wants to do is stop-

He wants to let the lump in his throat disappear.

He wants to clear his sight.

He just wants it to stop.

“Deran. Hey.” Cool hands brisk his shoulders. Deran swipes at his nose as he arches his back. Finds himself looking directly at Baz.

Baz was looking right back at him.

Deran lets Baz direct him around the corner, down a long hallway. The white starts to make him feel nauseous. His feet feel numb as he walks and the drumming in his ears begin.

Craig is perked up against the wall. Deran watches as Craig leans forward when he’s standing about twenty feet away.

“Dude-“

“A fucking clinic?” Deran’s surprised at the tone of his voice. It was somewhere between confusion and sheer anger that he thought he couldn’t muster. He also has to jab his hands to his sides when he feels the words start to crack. His voice would betray him. He knew they would.

They couldn’t see that.

He shrugs off Baz’s touch and slides to the opposite side of them.

“There’s a fucking hospital closer than _this_.”

He doesn’t look at them as he continues.

It helps that he doesn’t have to.

Because if he did.

 _Shit_.

“Are you both _stupid_?” He seethes, “What if he had-I don’t know?!” The possibilities seemed endless, “What if he had burst his spleen or some shit?” It seems random. But it also seemed likely. “What if he cracked a rib? Dude, you could puncture your lung that way!” His mind is running as he turns to face the room that he had assumed was where they had taken _him_.

He catches his breath.

He feels his skin prickling.

He does what he knows best.

He rubs his hand over his eyes, rests them against his forehead as he focuses on his feet.

Because, _shit_.

“I swear to God…”

“It’s just a broken nose, Deran.” Baz is at his side as he answers, “That’s all. I searched him over. I tried to ask him if anything else hurt but he was already out by the time-“

“Oh, _Jesus_.” Deran takes a step back.

“-he’s going to be _fine_.” Baz continues, more sterness in his voice, “We took him here because I couldn’t find his card, man. They would ask too many questions if we took him to a hospital. You and I both know that that’s not what Adrian wants.”

Deran’s blood boils as he focuses on Baz’s words.

 _That’s not what Adrian wants_.

 _They would ask too many questions_.

Questions.

“Questions about _what_?”

Baz sighs, “De-“

“ _Fuck you_.” Deran cuts him off, “Fuck. _You_.”

Craig’s at Baz’s side just as quickly. He has his hands out as if he’s trying to stop whatever might start. Deran wants to flip him off but he looks away when all he wants to do is throw his fist in Baz’s direction.

“Dude, A-man wouldn’t do stupid shit. We know that. That’s not what he’s trying to say.” Craig starts, “But we can’t take chances, right?”

He grips at his hair as he growls. He knows that his vision is blurred and that his eyes are starting to burn. He blinks away until he presses his forehead against the tiled wall. He lets out a breath he knows he’s holding but doing that makes him feel as if he had just given into something.

He shifts his head from one side to another.

Does so because the drumming in his ears begins to change in tune.

If he’s angled just a little bit to the side but hung his head, the sound was fine-tuned. It didn’t sound like scraping nails.

It just sounded like the motor of a cooler.

It’s never just a broken nose.

It’s never that.

“Deran, he’ll be fine.”

He knows it.

He has to be.

There was nothing else he could be.

He had to be okay.

“Don’t fucking tell me that,” he clears his throat as he growls.

Baz retracts his hand.

“Listen, I’m not going to do this entire schpiel with you, man.”

Deran looks at him.

“What, schpiel?” He repeats.

Baz gives him a once-twice lookover. He glances at Deran from the brisk of his toes to the top of his head. Does it once. Does it again.

“This,” he waves his hands in Deran’s direction, “You just-“ Deran waits for him to continue. He hopes Baz does because if he’s being honest, a fist in Baz’s face doesn’t seem like a bad idea. It seems like that it would feel much better right now if Baz continued.

So he waits.

His nostrils are flaring and his hands are in the shapes of fists.

He watches as Baz sighs.

His mouth forms an oval shape but then he drops his gaze as he turns to look at Craig.

And Deran realizes then what he was, how he was feeling, how he was displaying it-

He catches himself uncurl his hands. Coughs into his elbow as he sags his shoulders. He rubs at his elbow as he exhales.

He knew what he had looked like. Sounded like.

And they were noticing it too.

“Yeah,” Deran levels his voice, “He’ll be fine.”

Deran has to bite down on his lip when he feels the shudder crawl up his spine.

He’ll be fine because he has to.

There were no ifs, ands or buts about it.

“Whatever.” Deran adds because they’re still looking at him.

Like they’re noticing something that Deran didn’t want them to.

That the change in manner was just expected but also-

It’s as if they had caught Deran in something that he hadn’t mean to find himself in.

They’re looking at him.

So Deran looks away.

“It’s just a broken nose.” He finds himself repeating, but this time, he makes sure to scowl. Like, _there_. _He can handle a broken nose._ And if he couldn’t-

Well, then tough shit.

But the drumming is back and it’s louder.

And this time,  he let’s it swallow the entire room.


	2. Chapter 2

Deran throws his feet on the slab. Pursues his lips, but reminds himself to not do anything stupid. He wants to frown. Scowl. Maybe even scream until he has nothing left to scream about. He feels jagged and his eyes start to ache and if they could, he knew they would be hanging from out of their sockets.

So he nibbles on his lower lip.

He nibbles until he feels a slight pang.

And then there’s blood. It drips onto his jaw but he quickly wipes it away with the sleeve of his shirt. He does a onceover gloss. Looks to see if anyone is watching him.

Craig’s asleep on chairs beside the nurse’s station.

Baz’s resting his head against the wall, eyes shut. He has his hands kneaded together and if anyone could imagine how Baz Blackwell would be sleeping, it would have been a crystal clear answer right there in that moment. He looks out of it but also aware of what was going around him. He kicked his legs underneath the chair but he arched his back-

As if he was saying _don’t fuck with me_.

Deran focuses on the floor as he hangs his head.

Because, _shit_.

The time goes by. And it goes by slowly. He’s never heard it before but every time the hand moves just a little bit, it’s louder as it bounces off of his eardrums. His heart beats are starting to flood his hearing and he has to catch his breath every so often so he doesn’t get swallowed by how _slow_ everything had become.

He finds it harder and harder to not concentrate.

He feels his skin prickling and his eyes are burning but he grits his jaw as an effort to counteract that anger he felt grow in the pit of his stomach.

_What was he doing out so late?_

Maybe there was some credence to what Baz had said.

_If they asked questions…_

About what.

Adrian.

The first time since Deran had met him, they all knew that he was better than any of them combined. They saw it-

He was better than all of them and then some.

And Deran never met someone so good. So different. Unlike any of his brothers. He didn’t care about what others thought and it irked him because why couldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he? If he didn’t, someone else would do it for him. Not in ways that would be helpful.

He always wore a smile that said _well, the world might be a bad place but I don’t have to add anymore to that_ and that’s why they’ve been-

They’ve been-

He struggles to find the word.

Friends?

Best friends?

He takes a deep breath when the word he refuses to think about creeps into his mind.

Whatever he was, Deran knew that _that’s_ why they’ve been talking to each other for so long.

And that they will always.

Despite, _everything_.

Despite, him.

Despite what little he had to offer.

And that makes him flinch because he had nothing to offer. Nothing as much Adrian could ever. That bothered him to this day because there will be someone better, someone who will meet him half-way, someone who will give him what he deserves and that will _never_ be Deran. He knows it. He sees it everytime he looks into Adrian’s eyes. That everyday, every minute, every second that goes by, Adrian is getting farther and farther away.

Because he had found someone better.

Because he had found someone who was not only reaching him half-way, but maybe even completely.

And that won’t be him. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

He growls under his breath.

He wants to. He does. But he _can’t_.

He doesn’t have much to offer.

But that doesn’t stop him from pretending otherwise.

There was no way he was going to just let Adrian be. Or go. He should be the exception to the rule, right? That’s what he would tell himself. Over and over again. That there was always an exception. He doesn’t need to be anything else. Adrian should understand that.

He has to.

He does.

Deran has to slam his fist against his thigh-

There is the possibility that Adrian doesn’t.

And Deran remembers those eyes. The way they would dull the moment Deran walked into the room. The way Adrian would just look away as if his presence had just gutted him. As if he was suffocated by the mere fact that Deran had been in the same area as him.

And those eyes-

They would never go back.

Like the first time tgey met.

The way his browns meshed with his smile because they both spoke levels. He smiled, his eyes smiled. He had a way of doing that and it was _fucking_ amazing. It always drew him short of breath because who does that? Who the fuck can just project what they’re feeling inside to their eyes?

Now, his eyes spoke nothing.

This year, it has gotten worse.

Deran never sees it anymore.

Not even when Deran isn’t in Adrian’s periphery.

It’s gone.

It’s gone from his eyes.

It’s gone from his face.

It’s just not there. So Deran stops searching for it.

“Are you family to,” she drops her gaze to look at the notepad she’s holding, “…Adrian Spencer?” She finishes, crinkling her nose.

It doesn’t take much for Baz to stir from whatever daze he was under. He wavers his hands behind his back, flexes once and then twice before standing up.

Deran removes his head from his hands as he looks up. Deran finds a woman looking back at him, a smile on her face that seems forced. It doesn’t reach her eyes. She extends one arm out and he lowers his gaze to look at it.

She drops it to her side a second later.

Baz is standing by his side. He rests his hands on his hips, pursues his lips as he goes to give Deran’s shoulder a squeeze.

“He’s a friend.” Deran remarks. Has to clear his throat when the hoarseness makes it sound as if it was much _more_ than that. Deran can see that she senses that that’s what he meant so he clarifies, “Known him since I was a kid.” He shrugs, in an effort to show that _yeah_ , _that’s all it is_.

She slowly nods.

Baz gives him another squeeze.

But this time, he squeezes just a little harder. Holds still and then releases his grasp.

Whatever point he’s trying to convey, Deran has to shrug it off.

“Have you contacted his parents?” She goes to ask.

Deran pauses.

His parents.

He’s seen them several times. The first time, he went as far as to eat dinner that night. His parents were good people. The way they had something to say about anything and everything. They laughed. They smiled.

Something they had asked Adrian always stuck out-

Deran has to swallow the lump that rushes to escape his mouth.

“No.” He answers, voice low.

“And you all are?”

“Family.” Baz answers, stepping forward.

Deran’s thankful but he doesn’t let Baz know that.

He drops his head as he listens.

“In what regards?”

“Does it matter?”

“Mr.-“

There on out, it’s all just a static voice. He picks up a couple of words here and there but if he’s being honest, the need to lurch over and vomit becomes overwhelming. He rubs at his neck as he closes his eyes, takes another deep breath.

He hates the smell; cough syrup that dripped out of a syringe was the best he could describe it. The walls were too white and felt as if they were just swallowing up everything he felt inside and reflected it back.

As if he’s looking right into what he can’t see.

Himself.

He’s having a hard time exhaling. He catches his breath when the pang in his chest pounds against his flesh. He instinctly raises his hand and hovers it over his chest. He presses his cool fingers into the fabric of his shirt. Squeezes once. Then once more. Does it a couple more times before he can feel the air rushing in.

Out.

Then back in.

Fractured rib.

Nasal fracture.

Substantive injuries to his lower abdomen.

Damage to his patella.

Tear in his tibial nerve.

Deran stands up quickly. He glances at what should be Adrian’s room and then settles his eyes on the woman. She looks taken back-her brows etching inwards, a frown overtaking her entire demeanor.

He wants to ask if he can go see him.

He goes to-

Craig comes to his side and Deran notices that he’s about to pat him on his back and reflexively, he pulls away.

So it dies on his lips.

“Looks like A-man can take a punch.” Craig elbows Deran in his side. He’s sliding his hand into his hair and tugs on it once he shuffles to stand beside Deran.

Deran bristles as he scoots over. He hates that it’s not just a punch. It’s more than that. If he managed to fracture his rib and his nose, those punches were purposeful. And if the latter was worse than the former, than Adrian had to have been more stubborn than he had thought.

 _Son of a bitch_.

“What’s he up to anyway?” Craig asks, “He dealing on the side-“

“Shut the fuck up, Craig.” Deran cuts him off, hates the insinuation. He hates it to the point that he has to walk to the other side. But he doesn’t. Because that’s too obvious. So he bites down on his tongue as he rests his shoulder against the wall, heaves a sigh as the added leveling eased the discomfort in his arm.

“What?” Craig sounds defensive, “I haven’t seen him in a while, who knows what-“

“ _Dude_ ,” Deran manages to say with a leveled voice, “Shut. Up.”

Baz shoves his hands into his jean pockets, whisking his lips as he says, “We can go see him. He’s out though,” Baz adds as he tilts his head to stare at Deran. Deran doesn’t meet him halfway.

He nods. But he doesn’t make an attempt to move.

He doesn’t have to.

Craig starts to take large strides, Baz following behind him.

He walks behind Baz and Craig. Doesn’t want to be the first one to enter the room and he certainly doesn’t want to even have to see Adrian under these lights. IT’s too bright and he has to shield his eyes when he goes to look up.

He swallows a little too roughly as he peers over Baz. He sees Adrian’s face-it’s swollen. Not entirely but it dulled down near his jaw. His nose has some gauze on the upper half and the stitches are peering from underneath. He shifts his head to get a better look-

His lip is torn up and there are some stitches on his lower half.

He casts his eye to look at his hands, sees them free of any gauze.

He lets  a breath out that he doesn’t even realize he’s holding.

“ _Shit_.” Craig hisses, as it had dawned on him that moment that maybe it was more than a punch. He goes to stand beside Adrian’s legs, whistles under his breath, “Wow. Either he’s really stupid or really stubbbbborn.” Craig pops the last word, sliding his hand against the railing.

Baz frowns, crossing his arms steadily across his chest. He mutters _Jesus Christ_ under his breath, shifting in his stature as he pointedly stares at Adrian.

Deran watches them, averts his eyes. Refuses to see what they did.

Because from what he had seen a second ago-

That was more than enough.

He itches the back of his neck as he swivels around, staring around the room. It’s more dimly lit. There are two chairs against the wall. A window that’s slightly open. There is a curtain that separates Adrian from the bed next to him-

It’s empty though.

There’s a machine that’s monitoring his heart rate.

He watches from his periphery as the lines fluctuate. Once, they go up and steadily go down but nothing too harsh. Nothing is flat. Which means he’s doing just _fine_.

Whatever that meant.

He takes notice of the Ziploc bag at the tableside. It has his wallet, a watch and his keys. There’s another bag, with his slippers and his clothes. They’re stained though. Deran pauses in his spot when he notices the red seeped into the shirt.

He hates at that moment that Adrian had even worn a white shirt. It does nothing but make the red stand out. It’s wearing that color as if that white never had existed. And that causes the pit in Deran’s stomach to grow in an unproportional amount. Because that’s Adrian’s blood.

 _That’s a lot of blood_.

So he diverts his gaze.

But he has nothing more to look at.

Except for Adrian.

He can’t though. He can’t stomach the thought whatsoever.

“Yo, Deran.” Craig bellows, “You here?” Craig’s snapping his fingers in his direction. He leans on his side, throwing his head back as he stretches his hands over his head.

“What.” Deran growls, kind of irritated that Craig’s resting against the railing. For _fuck’s sake_ , there was like a wall he could be leaning against. Deran snarls as he points at the armchair just beside Craig, drops his eyes to emphasize that _motherfucker, go sit there_.

Craig shrugs as he arches his back.

Deran bristles.

“You stay here with Adrian. Someone’s gotta be here when he wakes up.” Baz draws his hands out of his pockets, goes to shield his mouth as he yawns. He rubs at his eye before dropping his hand to his side.

“What, are _you_ busy?” Deran retorts.

Baz frowns.

“He’s your friend.”

“He’s your friend too.” Deran remarks.

Baz pursues his lips.

“Yeah…” he’s careful as he says, “but I think he’d rather want to see you than me.”

Deran knows it’s true. If anything, he wants to be the first person Adrian sees. He wants to be there when Adrian opens his eyes because there was no other alternative than opening his eyes. That was that or _nothing_. He agrees with Baz but what comes out instead is “You trying to say something?”

Baz shakes his head, slowly.

“No..”  he’s quiet as he replies, “Do _you_ have anywhere to be?” Baz directs at Deran.

“In bed.” He’s quick to reply.

He wants to sink to the floor and just melt because the words burn the moment they escape his lips. He wants to say _I’ll be here. There’s nothing else for me to do. There’s no where else I’d rather be_ but he blinks away furiously as he bites down his words.

He can’t say _that_.

“Fine. Go back to bed. I’ll be here.” Baz sighs, kicking his feet under the chair, leveling the foot in his direction. He turns around to sit down but Craig ‘tsks’ as Baz lowers down.

“Smurf’s gonna want to know what happened with Tony.”

Baz nods, “You fill her in.” to which Craig snorts, loudly.

“No way man.” Craig places his palms out in front of him, “No way.” Craig huffs, “She’s gonna bust my balls.”

Baz rolls his eyes. He smiles for the briefest of seconds before coughing into his elbow.

“Yeah well…” He wavers off, “Deran’s not gonna stay to see if his _best friend_ wakes up.”

He has to shut his eyes. It starts to feel like a knife that plunged into his throat. He feels his blood curdle and the air in his lungs escape from within him. His skin is burning and the hair on the back of his neck is standing up.

 _Wakes up_.

As if he wouldn’t.

As if it was debatable.

“Dude, don’t bust _his_ balls.” Craig claps Deran’s back. He wears a toothy smile and Deran wishes for nothing more than to swing his fist to his face.

He doesn’t resist as Craig grips him by his shoulder.

“Come on, D. Stay. I don’t want to have Smurf down my throat,” Craig turns Deran around to face Baz, “I’d rather see Smurf bust his balls. That’s a lot more fun, man.”

Baz folded his lips.

Gave a pointed look to them both.

Deran knows he could just say yes.

Just say it and they would leave. No questions asked. No ifs ands or buts about it.

He knows they would.

But he _can’t_.

The walls are starting to close in on him and he goes to push back. Because it’s getting hard to stand. Hard to breathe.

“No point in staying here now,” he feels the blood drain from his face as he whispers, wants to take back the words but he doesn’t have any other choice, “I’ll be back later.” He grits out, shuts his mouth tight when his voice begins to crack.

He hates it.

He _fucking_ hates it.

And at that very moment, he’s glad Craig’s still gripping onto him by his shoulders because if he hadn’t been, Deran’s not sure he’d be standing.

That wall?

It suffocates him, regardless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of them are imbeciles.

He doesn’t sleep. Sure, he has his hands fisted into the sheets, his head stuffed underneath the pillow and he makes an effort here and there to snore-

But’s he’s awake.

His eyes start to feel like they are on fire which works because he’s unable to keep them shut. Even though he feels a heaviness settle on his shoulders and is overwhelmingly tired, he wants nothing more than to just be awake.

Deran shoves his palm under the crane of his neck, digs his fingers in, exhales as that satiates the pang that ceases to exist.

He watches the numbers on his phone change. Not quick enough but they do. After a while he stops counting the seconds but his eyes don’t stray. All these thoughts run through his mind to keep him occupied when the silence is deafening-

_Did Baz give the front desk their number?_

Deran digs the sole of his feet into the mattress, pulling his knees inwards before letting one dangle off the edge of the mattress.

_What was he doing out that late?_

_Why did he have to put up a fight?_

Then-

_Should he wait for a call before he goes?_

_Should he get up now?_

He blinks a couple of times as his vision blurs, the numbers illuminated on the phone screen meshing in with the surroundings.

 _4:19_.

It’s too early.

He whisks his lips, drawing air out to drift away the piece of his hair that lands beside his mouth. He does it a couple of more times before he runs his hand through his hair, tugging on the ends a couple of times  before shoving it away from his face.

He glances back down.

 _4:19_.

“Fuck.” He growls into the air.

He turns to rest on his other side but hisses when a sting runs through his lower back. He rubs his arm against his hip, kneads his fingers into the fabric of his shirt before turning to lay on his back. The discomfort goes away and the jab slowly dulls.

He rubs at his eyes as a buzz begins in his ears. It’s soft at first but as he rummages his hand against his forehead, the sound only gains traction. So he turns back to his _other_ side.

The sound?

It’s gone.

The discomforting pain?

His skin starts to prickle but he shrugs it off as it also deters him from shutting his eyes and succumbing to the fatigue. He’s bone-tired and the heaviness starts to feel suffocating. He takes shallow breaths before shoving his face into the pillow, growling in frustration.

He lifts his head up from under, drifts his gaze back to his phone because _he needed to get there on time_. Whatever that was. He couldn’t be too early. Though, he could leave too late, either. He just needed to be there and it had to make sense.

Every so often, when the drifts hanging from the sill flow into his periphery, he has to look away. He grabs his phone a little bit tighter and grips it in his hand, until the indentations of the cell leave white residues on the palm of his hand that disappear as soon as he drops his phone. It’s not out of his sight though.

The white blinds him. It reminds of him those familiar walls and the linen. The sheet that _he_ had wrapped around _him_. The gauze on _his_ hand. The whiteness ripped a hole in Deran’s stomach and he feels weary having to notice it.

 _4:20_.

The stench doesn’t go away. He still smells it even as he tries to breathe the surrounding air. It’s putrid. It’s somewhere between syringes and alcohol rub and though, each on it’s own, isn’t so bad-the both of them _together_ makes the pit in his stomach enlarge.

He grabs the bridge of his nose, pinches inwards before roughly swiping the back of his hand over and under his nose, sniffing until the smell is nothing but a distant one. He’s quick as he kneads his fingers into the base of his neck, shifting his head lower as he pressed into the creases that formed. His voice is low as he groans in content, the jab that dulled in his back had become some what of constant pang.

 He feels as if he’s trying to walk up to his neck in a deep, muddy river in heavy, wet clothes carrying shopping bags full of rocks.

_Why did **he** have to put up a fight?_

It bothers him to the point where he wishes he could just shake Adrian senseless because- _fuck_.

 _Jesus fucking Christ_.

The soaked shirt flashes into his mind and he churns at the sight of it.

He drags his gaze and goes to reach for his phone, the comfort of knowing that it was a tangible sense of comfort, relaxing once his cool fingers grasped the case.

4:21.

 -*-

Deran slides his foot into the holster of his jeans, slipping one leg through before lifting his other foot. He’s quick as he grabs onto a shirt-the plaid blue one catches his eyes-throws it on before wavering his eyes over his room.

He enters the hallway, his ears perk when Craig’s groan ricochets off of his eardrums. He takes a glance at the front door from where he stood but he found himself walking in the direction of the sound.

“Well, look who’s up?” Baz’s lips are coarse as he mumbles, throwing a quick nod before walking behind the glass door. Craig shifts upwards, resting his head against his elbow as he mutters a ‘finally’, rolling his eyes but stopping half-way, as if he had forgot midway how to even roll his eyes.

Deran stilfes a chuckle.

He goes to grab a granola bar from one of the cabinets, grabs the knob of the fridge, pulls, shoves a water bottle into the helm of his pants before shutting the fridge close.

“Where are _you_ going, man.”

             He’s irritated that he’s being asked because if anything, _what’s his deal with asking twenty questions._ He’s covered ground, he’s made an effort to get out of bed at around 9 even though he felt the overwhelming urge to have never left **his side** at all. Deran’s walked out of his room _without_ dashing for his truck. He had painstakingly made an effort to even talk to them and yet-

             He’s being asked where he’s going.

             “I was going to go catch a break,” he finds himself lying, the words slipping as if he had already planned them out before he had even said them. It’s easy and he doesn’t retract any of it. “Seems like the drift will be offshore.” He continues, falling into a rhythm of spilling words that he finds easy to just say.

             He catches Craig’s gaze as he turns to lean against the counter.

             “Uh. Huh.” Craig’s eyes are nimble as he takes one look-over, Deran cowering under the glare as it becomes apparent that Craig doesn’t buy it, “Right.”

             Baz slips through the crevice, wiping his hands with the cloth, the white stained by whatever he had on his hands.

             “Smurf’s opting for a drill out,” Baz begins, “Says we need to get be more _optimal_ ,” he enunciates, “But she’s got a location out near North Shore. How about we go check it out and map out the exits, triggers and anything. Let’s cover all our bases but let’s also go separately. We’ve got Jack still on our backs and until that’s cooled down, splitting sounds good.”

             Craig tilts his head to look away. He’s languid as he waves his hand in the air, waving off Baz.

             Baz shoves the cloth into the helm of his belt.

             “And you?” Baz directs in Deran’s direction, “Think you’ll be back before 5?”

             Deran shrugs, “Why wouldn’t I be, man?”

             Baz lips thin as he replies, “Not going to go see Adrian?”

             And Deran’s glad that Baz is the one to bring it up.

             “Oh. Yeah.” Deran grits, “Right.”

             Baz nods. He holds his glare and then drops it as he walks to stand beside Deran. Deran lurches forward, not too fast, but until his posture is leveled out.

             “I paid in cash,” Baz’s voice is lower as he rests his hands on his hips, “Only for the prelims. He’s gonna have to figure out a way to co-opt the payments alright? He’s not stupid, so he probably is on some PPO but tell him to call the provider and ask for the quotes,” Baz exhales as he turns to look at Craig, albeit briefly, before turning back, “He’s got enough injuries and they’ve done enough tests so I wouldn’t know where it would end up to but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

             Baz extends his hand out, clasps Deran’s shoulder before giving a tight squeeze. Deran’s not looking at Baz as his grip does in fact assure him. It’s reassuring to the point where the heaviness starts to disappear. He feels the pang in his chest begin to cease. And he finds himself exhaling a little more easily.

             He doesn’t respond. Let’s the silence drown them out.

             Because he _can’t_.

             Baz doesn’t make an effort to say anything else.

             Instead he shoves his free hand into his jeans’ pocket and brings out his wallet, sifts through the slot before fisting bills into his hand.

             He then goes to slip them into Deran’s pocket. They slide in easily.

             Baz retracts his hand, drops it to his side before sighing. The sigh causes Deran to tilt his head up. He stills hang it slightly low but he makes an effort to hold eye contact.

             He’s thankful for the words.

             But he can’t let Baz know that.

             Deran bites down on his tongue.

         “Ocean thousand, mountain thousand.” Baz nods, _like there- it’s going to be okay_. The meaning behind the words don’t fall on deaf ears.

Deran doesn’t say anything in return but the exhale that follows soon afterwards, it’s nothing short of a miracle that he doesn’t feel his chest combust from within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up on TUMBLR: okaywhateverokayyes


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not even sure if anyone is reading this.. but- oh well.

Deran has one foot on the accelerator, pressing on the pedal without taking into much consideration that in some moments, he needed to press on the brakes. He starts to wonder whether Oceanside traffic had always been this ridiculous or if everyone had always driven this slowly.

He has to honk a good eight times and even then, he finds himself swerving the truck in a manner that even he starts to worry whether that slight bump had been something bigger than just an indentation in the road.

He takes a look at his rear mirror ever so often but his foot continues to press on the accelerator, because he’s more worried that he’s late. He’s more worried that once he gets to the parking lot and through this familiar doors, there would be an empty bed. He’s worried that every second he worries about anything other than _Adrian,_ it’s a disservice to Adrian.

So he restrains himself from pressing on the breaks.

He finds himself parking a block away. He doesn’t know why but he doesn’t even question it. His hands start to shake as he pulls the gear in parking, pulling his keys out the ignition. He settles one hand against the sill of the window, resting his elbow on the frame.

He swipes a hand behind his neck, rubbing in frustration as his eyes gaze down at the stereo.

 _10:37_.

He curls his hand around the steering wheel, gripping to the point where his knuckles ache.

He doesn’t make an effort to move.

Instead, he continues to stare at the driveway that leads to the familiar building.

He can’t find the effort to unclasp the door. He finds it hard to lift his legs up and settles them besides the gearshift. He’s not comfortable because it felt like someone was prodding him from every corner. It’s unsettling and he feels the itch to just jump up from the seat. But the dread he feels is _real_. The panic that flutters against his ribcage, is _real_.

Yet he doesn’t get a moment to be swallowed by it.

From the corner of his eye, he notices the familiar figure appearing from behind the front doors of the clinic.

The light does everything but soften the discoloration. There are seeps of purple and red that blend into the color of his skin. Adrian's lip is less swollen than it had been the day before but everything else seemed to have puffed up. 

He's not carrying an weight on his back which comforts in ways that is inexplicable. Adrian's hand is wrapped a newer gauche, this time two braces clasped onto keep the seams together. 

His cast is upheld by a sling, that's more practical than he had imagined they would give Adrian considering the circumstances. 

His feet hit the ground, walking. He's slow at first but as Adrian appears on the sidewalk, Deran soon finds himself taking larger strides before it forms into a quick pace jog. 

It doesn't take him long before he's standing right in front of Adrian. 

Deran shoves his keys into his pockets, clamping his hands on his waist as he waits for Adrian to look up. 

Up close, he notices the stitches marked on Adrian's lips. There's red seeping slightly out so Deran assumes that Adrian had probably gotten them redone. 

Patches of discoloration were now apparent, a shallow red that he hadn't seen at a distant, had covered half of Adrian's forehead. 

It's the size of flattened tennis ball. It's shape is not as conforming as he would have assumed. It's almost oval before disappearing into his scalp.

"You look like shit." It's the first thing he says, silently cursing as it slips from the confines of his mouth. He regrets it the moment the words are said. 

Deran  shifts in his spot as he continues to gaze at Adrian, who despite his inapt remark, had continued to stare at his feet. 

He's let his hair grow, Deran takes a note of. At first he wonders how he's not able to see Adrian's eyes and then it dawns upon him that his hair had been a front to that objection. 

Deran wonders how he's just noticing  that Adrian's  hair is longer than the last time he remembered but it's a quick fret that washes away as he stretches his leg out in front of him, hoping that would cause Adrian to gaze up. 

It doesn't. 

"How's your hand?" He goes to ask, not really expecting an answer in return. Maybe a shrug. Something he's used to getting in response. 

Deran does end up getting that half-way shrug, the one where Adrian would lift one of his shoulders and somehow not both. It's particular to him and only then does Deran let out a breath that softens the clamp in his chest. 

"Broken." Adrian's voice is hoarse as he replies. 

It sounds like a jab but Deran ignores the pretense. 

"How bad?" 

He's met with another half noncommittal shrug. 

It doesn't bother him as much as it worries him that if Adrian continues to respond with one word answers, he would never  know how bad it actually is. Was there a spring in his hand? Is he in pain now? 

He wants to ask but the words die on his lips. 

_Do you need to come back so they could check you out?_

_Do you need a ride to Rite Aid?_

_What meds did they put you on?_

_If you need something stronger, I can get it for you._

_Do you want to get something to eat. You got to be hungry._

_Does it hurt? Does **anything**  hurt? _

"Offshore wind, man. You're gonna be missing out on some good rides." Is what he ends up saying. As Adrian lifts his head up, Deran notices that Adrian too was offhanded by the remarks. 

His eyes are a glossy brown. There are red streaks running across the white, almost as if he had somehow found a way for his veins to pop out symmetrically.

 Deran grits on his jaw, ramming his fisted hands into the fabric of his shirt. 

"Sure." Adrian responds with, which catches Deran off guard. 

He replies as if Deran hadn't said the stupidest thing. He knows he shouldn't have to feel comforted by it, but he is. 

Adrian's voice continued to be hoarse. Dry. As if he is unable to clear whatever was obstructing his threat. Deran watched as Adrian goes to cough into his elbow-once, twice, three times before he drops his hand to his side. 

Water. 

He turns to look back at his truck, does a once over and notices that there's no bottle there. Deran flips back to face Adrian, shoving his hand back into his right pocket before clasping onto the keychain. 

"Come on," Deran mumbles, "let's get you some beer."  _Water_. He had meant to say water. Yet he makes no attempt to rectify the word. 

Instead, he let's the silence fall over them. 

Deran takes one step back, notices Adrian start to tilt his head to look in the other direction. He holds his gaze for much longer than Deran wants to admit. 

"You need a ride?" Deran's voice is low as he asks, his words do nothing to catch Adrian's attention. 

He gives it a moment but when it becomes apparent that his words had probably fallen to deaf ears, Deran growls out as he repeats, " _need_  a ride?" 

Adrian flinches. There's a grimace that settles on his lips, his eyes shielded now by the cascade of light that falls between them. It's so bright, Deran has to blink furiously just to catch a glimpse of the look etched across Adrian's face. 

It's an unsettling discomfort that Deran isn't blind to. 

A familiar look.

Disappointment? 

Maybe. 

Fear.

He hates it. Because he knows that it's some version of it. As if he had given Adrian a reason to. As if him asking anything, warranted it. 

"Do you want a ride or _not_?" Deran growls, as he manages to take another step back, even though he just hopes Adrian would just fucking answer him. Would just let this one time- _this one time_ -whatever disposition he had held against him, he would just let it go. That he wouldn't refuse it. That he would just stop looking at him that way. 

That he'd just take him up on the offer. 

"No," its terse and finite, "I'm good." Adrian is ready to tilt on his heel to turn and walk in the opposite direction. 

_It's about two miles away._

_You shouldn't be walking._

_It's too hot._

_You're gonna pass out._

_Please, just-just -_

Deran gives a quick nod, resists the temptation to reach forward and pull him in. He clenches his toes as he walks in the direction of his truck. There's a pang in his chest that renders hims breathless. He rubs at his chest, lurching slightly forward to catch his breath. 

_Who did this to you?_

_Why did they do this?_

_Where the fuck did it happen?_

_Are you hurt?_

_Are you still hurting?_

_I can help._

Deran grapes the edge of the key into the palm of his hand. 

_Let me fucking help you_

It doesn't fall short of irony that despite his need to _want to help_ is dismissed immediately by the mere fact that he doesn’t stop to stop.

He couldn’t.

He can’t.

Because he doesn’t know if he can.

And even if he does, he’s not so sure if Adrian would even listen.

   
  
---  
  
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is reading this, hit me up on tumblr: okaywhateverokayyes


	5. Chapter 5

It’s a jaded feeling. He stares at the ceiling for what seems like hours but he doesn’t have to look at the clock on the table beside him to know otherwise. Yet, despite the fact that his vision starts to blur as he stares at _nothing_ , he continues to do so because there’s comfort within the blankness.

The white is so blinding but it’s so blank.

Nothing smudged, no bubbles. No water leakage. Not even the tiniest color has sullied the white.

His eyes start to hurt. There’s a throb that feels unusually uncomfortable. It’s not enough to stir him or make him move. He’s almost in a trance that his muscles are rendered weak by. His body feels stuck to the mattress underneath. He doesn’t even make an effort to jostle his hand because the trance is numbing. It’s so jaded, he takes a shallow breath as he blinks to refocus his vision.

He doesn’t really want to get up. But he knows he has to, _yet_  he doesn’t care enough to. It’s always a struggle. What should he do versus what would his body let him do? Because as much as he wants to bask in the scorching heat, to just _wake up_ , he’s in a catatonic state. And he’s forced to be content with it.  

He feels the blood pulsating within, his ears drumming with a buzz that soon becomes deafening. He can move his fingers into the fabric of the bedsheet but that’s all he can do. His hands are pressed into the mattress with such lightness, he can’t fathom why he is struggling to even lift them up.

It’s not as if he’s straining his muscles, it’s as if he’s draining his mental capacity to do so. As if even moving an inch would create this cesspool in his head that would consume any energy he had left. He’s not tired but his body reminds him otherwise. His _mind_ , is exhausted.

“Dude.” Craig howls, throwing the door open as he strides towards the bedside, “What the _fuck_.”

Deran grimaces as Craig’’s voice cuts through the fizzling drone that flooded his ear drums. Even then, he’s deprived of any stamina to even lift his head up and throw on a disproving glower.

He finds it difficult to even flip Craig off.

Instead, he settles his palms to his sides as he lets out a strained sigh.

Craig latches onto the knob of his drawer, pulls it open and shuffles his hands through. He scurries through before he’s opening the next one. Deran watches from the periphery his eye as Craig growls when he moves away from his bedside, slamming his fist into the dent in his wall.

It’s a quite jab. Even from where Deran laid, it’s not a forceful stroke. It’s purposeful but void of any effort.

Craig stomps to the wall closest to the door, runs his hand around the desk. He casually knocks the lamp off of it’s base. The sound off the bulb cracking is softened by the carpet the shards of glass fall on top of.

Deran lays there, annoyed but too limp to do anything. To say anything. His words are evaporated in the confines his mouth. His throat is dry and he just wants to stare at the ceiling. There is certainty to that white that he finds comforting. That white will continue to stay that away. Maybe as the sun settles, there will be a shadow overcasted but it’s _still_ -it’s _stale_ -it’s _simple_.

He wraps his hand around his stomach as he curls his toes; his feet are dangling off of the frame of the bed. They aren’t as tiny as he made it out it to be but he’s not the type to settle his head at the headboard. It’s too close to the wall. He needs room to  just be. To just breathe. Even as his feet sling mid-air, his feet grazing the sleek wooden floor, he’s not feeling cramped.

There’s something to say about that.

Deran slides  his other hand around the one he has wrapped around his chest. He curls his free hand into the other, pressing his fingers into his flesh. It does nothing to subvert the numbing but it gives him a sense of relief knowing that he’s capable of even moving both hands.

It’s so stupid.

He knows it.

But as he continues to stare at the blinding white, anything that would remind him not to be swallowed whole by something that _simple_ , something that _jaded_ , revives his paralyzed frame of thought.

It’s for a short amount of time. Seconds, if he is being honest.

But it’s enough.

Because something being that simple is a lie. Nothing is that simple. Nothing can be that _simple_. It’s too easy to be enticed by it. But it’s not real. It’s nice to think it is because it’s this strong pull that has him in his center of gravity. But once he’s in-once it’s got him-

It becomes a tug of war.

And he’s not on either side, but in the middle. Some _other_ things are pulling him apart.

“Dude, wake the fuck up."

Deran feigns a flinch as a tennis ball strikes his leg. 

"I need a twenty," Craig begins, huffing as he settles his hands on his waist, blowing air to shift the strands of hair that fell over his face, "Baz's out. Smurf's locked her  _shit_ up. I'm not gonna ask Pope.." his voice wavers off, both of them implicitly understanding  _why_.

Deran feels the weight of his wallet pressing into his upper thigh.

He swallows a shallow strain as he slides his hand into the pocket of his shorts. The cool leather shocks the settling numbness in the palm of his hand. He grabs it quick and slides it out of his shorts before his mind would stagnate the motion.

Deran flings the wallet, which barely hits the frame of the bed and instead flies towards the floor.

Craig lurches forward, but the way the padded sound hits his eardrums, he's sure that Craig misses to catch it.

Craig is quick as he fists his fingers onto the single bills. It seems as if he is emptying most of his money but Deran's too disinterested to ask.

Take it.

_Who gives a fuck?_

_The wall._

_The ceiling._

_The gauze._

The gauze.

The  _fucking_ gauze.

It's all  _white_.

It's all so  _simple_.

Then again-

Who gives a  **fuck**?

Deran struggles to exhale. He brings his hand back up to his neck and kneads his fingers into his flesh, pressing into the ache.

Craig smiles as he raises his fist into the air, throws the wallet beside Deran's leg before he shuffles towards the door. It's all haphazard and quick. 

Deran gets ready to shift his focus-

Maybe to look at the white near the frame of the window-

But instead he glares downwards as Craig wraps his hand around the cusp of the door-

Craig draws his brows inwards as he frowns, a playful smirk etched on his lips.

"Dude, you look like  _shit_."

 

 


End file.
